Aimee Coopers memoirs of the eighteen months she spent immersed in the nascent punk rock scene in Los Angeles is very revealing. Contrary to my expectations, there is a profound level of innocence permeating this book. Cooper was a minor character in the emerging punk rock drama and had a unique perspective on the maturation of the scene. There are sparse references to drugs and sex, which could be attributed to the authors own lack of experience and rejection of those things; but I get a sense that the world of punk rock in the late 70s and early 80s was just fundamentally cleaner, safer, and in some strange way, more wholesome. Dont think, however, that Im trivializing the drug addition and violence Cooper writes of, because its in there, and its horrible.

The author fell in with a group of punks called TC or The Connected. While punk in musical taste, attitude, and attire, they sound very much like the hippy communes common in the late 60s. They lived like a family, interdependently; and like a family they had their share of arguments, emotional strife, and personal betrayals and disappointments in one another. Cooper takes their antics in stride, always keeping herself a little bit in the background. Not being a major player in the scene gives her lots of perspective on it. She points out its good qualities along with its bad ones and isnt fooled by the pretentious scenesterism (which, in the early 1980s, was just oozing in) that so many fans of alternative music encounter at one point or another. She loved punk rock, not being classified as a punk rocker. That being said, Cooper does give us many detailed descriptions of who was wearing what and what their clothing signified. Appearance has forever been tied to persona. The simplest way to differentiate oneself from the mainstream has always been to dress differently and act differently. The eternal Catch-22 of those with alternative visionaries however, has been their singularity becoming mainstream, which of course affected punk.

Punk is a hodgepodge of oxymorons. Simultaneously conformist and non-conformist; focused and directionless; caring and oblivious; intelligent and idiotic; anarchic and structured there are many rules to being a punk, to not selling out in some poorly defined way or another. There are certain stereotypical opinions that punks are supposed to share, certain values and opinions they should profess if theyre really punk and not a poser, but it all really seems to boil down to one big rejection: having FUCK YOU tattooed on the underside of your tongue, piercing your face and spiking your hair in order to look as menacing as possible, hating everything and everyone that isnt like you. Its this hatred of the other that undermines the mission of punk. Any sort of blind predjudice breeds ignorance, mistrust, and bad decisions, and punks arent the exception to the rule. Coopers stories - because thats what this book is, a collection of stories and anecdotes - show both sides. She endures as well as doles out ignorance and contempt. Her anecdotes are usually brief: a night out at a show, skating with Tony Alva, a dinner party with Black Flag, etc. She has the memory of an elephant. The events presented in her book are depicted with clarity and confidence, albeit a lackluster characterization. The big names she drops (Exene, Penelope Spheeris, Biggs of Slash Magazine, The Germs, Black Flag, etc.) have a presence and reputation that have built up over 20 years. They are punk rock icons. But in Coopers book they are bosses, acquaintances, friends...just people. I cant say that her proximity to these people provides us with any new insight into their personal lives or inner thoughts. The reader feels removed, because Cooper, herself, is removed. Shes fifth business all the way, and it shows in the book. Dynamic personalities seem off-putting, or else somewhat stifled by her descriptions. The people she admires most seem to be the sketchiest-drawn. This is entirely the authors personality and perspective fingerprinting her work. It doesnt make the book bad not by any means but it seems less than it could be. I expected more somehow. More funny stories, more highs and lows, more danger, more politics, more descriptions of talented people doing innovative things, and it just wasnt there. Nothing sticks out in my mind. All of her stories were interesting, but not engrossing; playful, but not powerful. I know her friendships were strong, but that emotion doesnt come across in these pages. To Coopers credit, shes not sentimental or nostalgic; shes very matter-of-fact, and thats refreshing. Her honesty carries her a long way and is respectful of the reader. She doesnt glorify the beginning of punk, yet her own excitement and emotional involvement with the music is undeniable.

Coloring Outside the Lines is a fresh look at the origins of punk. Who was involved and why. The number of punks from broken homes or with histories of abuse are predictably high and saddening. The stereotypical punk idealism seems somewhat M.I.A.; Coopers friends are just trying to get by, listen to music they like, and be with people like them; political causes arent mentioned. Punk rock dogma hasnt evolved too much, it remains firmly rooted in the principles of the late 70s and early 80s, because thats where it all started after all. Coopers book enhances todays understanding of that beginning and sheds a little light on why it all started in the first place.

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